by Thomas Scott
Johnny scrolled through his phone and looked at the news coming out of Grant County. When he saw the short piece about the missing girl, he ran his fingers through his hair and looked at Dakota. “I think maybe you did.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The state cops had an Amber Alert out for a missing kid, last seen in Grant County with her father. He was driving a white van. I’ll bet that cop pulled you over because he thought you might be the guy.”
Dakota thought about that for a few seconds, then turned the corners of his mouth down. “What can I tell you? Better safe than sorry. Just because I didn’t have the kid doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have asked for ID, or try to search the van or something. You know how cops are. He had to go, no matter.”
Johnny was still looking at the news. “We might have gotten away with one this time. It looks like the cops found the guy and his little girl. I think they thought he was the one who killed the cop. According to this, they shot the hell out of him. He’s dead. What’d you do with the shotgun?”
“The only thing I could do. I wiped it down and tossed it into a field about a half-mile away from where I killed the cop. They’ll probably find it, but it’s clean. I bet they pin it on the dead guy.”
“Let’s hope,” Johnny said. “You got the cash, right?”
“Oh yeah.” Dakota reached into the van and pulled out the bag of money. “My guy wants a week until he takes another batch. Says he needs to line up a few more dealers.”
Johnny looked in the bag and when he saw the cash, he smiled and clapped Dakota on the back. “Nice work, man. Let’s shut everything down for a day or two. Sort of lay low.”
“Sounds good to me,” Dakota said. “Need to run down to Kentucky and buy another shotgun anyway.”
“I’ll tell you something else, while you’re down there, go to a paint supply store and get everything we need to paint that van. Gotta change the color.”
“You know what we should do?” Dakota said.
“What?”
“I’ll get a dark blue color, and have some decals made up for the side. You know…the ones that say Amazon Prime? If we paint the van and slap those stickers on there, no one will even look at us. Those things are everywhere.”
Johnny smiled. “Now you’re talking.”
Virgil found the hotel, and everyone got checked in. When Murton asked the hotel clerk for a restaurant recommendation, she told him the best place she knew of was about a quarter-mile away. She pulled out a little trifold map, made a circle on the spot, and handed it to him. “It’s a little pricey,” she said. “But it’s worth every penny. My husband takes me there twice a year…once on my birthday, and once for our anniversary.”
Murton thanked her, and after a short debate amongst themselves, they all decided to walk so they could have a few drinks and unwind a bit. They got a little carried away with the unwinding, and everyone ordered the most expensive things on the menu, mostly because they knew Virgil was buying. By the time they were done eating and drinking, the hour was late, so they made their way back to the hotel and agreed to meet in the lobby at seven the next morning.
When Virgil got to his room, he called Sandy and told her he was spending the night.
“You okay?” Sandy said, a measure of amusement in her voice. “You sound a little tipsy.”
“Yeah, it took a while for the food to arrive. I might have had one too many.”
“One? It sounds like maybe it might have been more than that.”
Virgil sat down on the bed and kicked his boots off as he fought back a yawn. “Kids doing okay?”
“Yes, everything is fine here, Virgil. We’ll miss you tonight.”
“I know. I’ll miss you too.”
Sandy laughed and said, “I doubt it. You sound like you’re half asleep right now. Virgil? Hey, Virgil…”
The next morning they all drank about a gallon of coffee, then checked out of the hotel and headed toward the RV plant.
“You guys got a little plowed last night,” Cool said. “It’s a good thing we were within stumbling distance of the hotel.”
“I noticed you only had one beer,” Murton said. “What are you? Some kind of teetotaler?”
Cool shook his head. “Nope, I’m simply the designated flyer. And besides, pilots don’t drink tea.”
“I don’t think tea is the root word for teetotaler,” Murton said.
“Whatever,” Cool replied. “I still don’t drink tea.”
Stronghill looked at Virgil and said, “You okay, Jonesy?”
“Yeah, except my mouth feels like I ate my pillow last night. Does anyone have any aspirin?”
No one did, so Virgil turned into a mini-mart and a few minutes later came back out with four bottles of water and the biggest box of Advil he could find. He passed the waters around, then popped four Advil.
“I’ll take a few of those,” Murton said.
“Me too,” Stronghill said.
They passed the bottle around and when Stronghill offered it to Cool, he simply shook his head.
“I’m cool,” Cool said. “Although, maybe I should drive us the rest of the way. What do you say, Jonesy?”
Virgil’s head was pounding, so he switched seats with Cool and they headed toward the plant. Cool looked at Stronghill and said, “See, the bus driver.”
“Well, you are wearing the uniform…”
When they arrived at the plant, it turned out that the uniform was something of a problem. They’d walked in the front door and after everyone identified themselves to the receptionist, Virgil asked if they could speak to the plant manager. When the receptionist asked why, Virgil said, “I’m not at liberty to say.”
She gave him an odd look, then picked up the phone and made a call. Ten minutes later a middle-aged man wearing a hardhat and safety goggles walked into the reception area. He had a two-way radio attached to his belt, the microphone clipped to his shirt collar, close to his ear. He looked at the four men in the lobby, then walked over and said, “Gentlemen. My name is Scott Green. I’m the plant manager here. I understand you’d like to speak with me?”
Virgil introduced everyone, then said, “Yes sir, we would.”
“What’s this all about?” Green said.
Virgil glanced at the receptionist, whom he could tell was trying to act like she wasn’t listening. “Is there someplace private we could speak, sir?”
Green nodded, then said, “Follow me.”
He led them down a short hallway, and into a small conference room that looked like it was set up for sales meetings. “How can I help you?”
“We’d like some background on a couple of guys who used to work here,” Virgil said. “Brian Kono and Chase Dakota.”
Green let a scowl form on his face. Then he nodded and said, “Yeah, a couple of idiots, those two. I gave them every chance in the world, but after a year of trying, I gave up. Fired them both on the same day a while back. They make some sort of accusations or something?”
“No, sir,” Virgil said. “It’s nothing like that.”
“What exactly do you want to know?” Green said.
Virgil caught the hesitation in Green’s question. “I’ll tell you that in just a moment, but first let me say this: Whatever you tell us will be held in strict confidence. Nothing you say to us will come back and bite you. I give you my word.”
The statement seemed to relax Green a bit. “Okay, go ahead.”
“If you could start by giving us your general impression of them,” Murton said. “Anything at all would be helpful.”
Green laughed through his nose. “I already did. They’re a couple of idiots.”
“Maybe if you could be a little more specific?” Virgil said.
Green looked down the table for a moment. “This is tough work. We put out over twenty units a day. That means you show up on time, work hard, and work fast. And not only that, but everyone has to be in sync with their coworkers. Those two just couldn’t, or w
ouldn’t, get on board with that concept.”
“Give me an example,” Murton said.
“Okay,” Green said. “We’ve got over two hundred and fifty people out there working right now. The line is constantly moving. As a finished unit rolls out the door, a carcass is rolled in, and the first people who go to work on it are the framers and welders. They’ve got fifteen minutes to weld the support structure for the flooring department, which is the next station. If something goes wrong…say a bad weld, or whatever, it backs up the entire line. Now you’ve got guys standing around waiting to get their jobs done because one guy screwed up. And since everyone out there on the floor is paid piece-rate wages, that means they’re standing there, making no money at all until the line starts moving again. These guys want to do their twenty units and get the hell out. Most of them are done by noon.”
“So it’s fair to assume that Kono and Dakota were constantly holding up the line?” Murton said.
Green nodded. “Yeah. I’ll tell you something, we’ve got a hell of a training program here. I tried to put those guys in damned near every single department to get their performance up. But they simply didn’t seem to have enough want to, if you know what I mean.”
Everyone thought about that for about ten seconds, then Green said, “So, what’d they do?”
Virgil didn’t want to get too deep in the specifics yet, so he dodged the question by saying, “I was wondering if you could give us a quick tour of the floor. We don’t need to see every single detail, but we would like to get a general impression of your operation.”
And that’s where the uniform became a problem.
Green squinted an eye directly at Cool, then said, “I’d be happy to do that, but with respect, I’m wondering if, uh…it’s Trooper Cool, is it?”
Cool smiled and said, “That’s me.”
Green looked at Virgil and Murton and Stronghill. “I can take you three out there, no problem. Nobody would think twice about it.” Then he looked back at Cool, and said, “But with respect, if I take a uniformed trooper through the plant, it’d stop the entire line, guaranteed. Everyone will think they’re about to be busted or something.”
Virgil looked at Cool and said, “You mind waiting, Rich?”
“No, go do your thing. I’m cool.”
Green laughed. “That’s pretty neat…I’m cool. I bet that never gets old.”
Virgil bobbed his head and said, “Yeah, it sort of does.” Murton and Stronghill were nodding right along with him.
Green got them outfitted with hardhats, safety goggles, and earplugs. “Keep this stuff on at all times. Especially the earplugs. It’s louder than a battlefield out there. Also, you’ll see two big yellow lines on the floor. You guys being cops and all, I probably shouldn’t have to say this, but stay between the lines at all times. I’m not kidding. This can be a pretty dangerous place. Ready? Let’s go.”
Green opened the door to the factory floor and Virgil had to admit, it was impressive. They started at the beginning of the line and watched the workers assemble the units, moving from one station to the next, each vehicle getting closer and closer to completion at each station. By the time they were done, they walked out the back door and looked at the finished product.
Virgil looked at Green and said, “How much does one of these things cost?”
“The one you’re leaning on right now will bring close to seven hundred grand from the dealer.”
Virgil stopped leaning on the vehicle. He looked at Green and said, “If we could go back inside?”
They ended up back in the same conference room, where they found Cool leafing through a vertical trade magazine. Once they were all seated, Virgil looked at Green and said, “It’s pretty amazing how fast everyone was working.”
“Like I said, the quicker they get their jobs done, the sooner they get to leave.”
Virgil wanted to be diplomatic, but his next statement didn’t sit very well with Green. “Some of them looked a little, uh, amped up.”
“What exactly do you mean by that, Detective? Is this some sort of drug sting you’re running?”
Virgil held his hands out. A peaceful gesture. “Yes, and no. We’re working with the DEA on a case that has ties to Kono and Dakota.”
“What kind of ties?”
“They stole a pharmaceutical delivery vehicle that contained enough pseudoephedrine to make a mountain of meth. During the robbery, the driver of the vehicle was murdered. We located Brian Kono by chance, as he was attempting to murder the girlfriend of the delivery driver. One of my officers shot and killed him. We’re trying to find Chase Dakota in hopes that we can stop an influx of meth into the state, the northern part of the state in particular.” Before Green could respond, Virgil continued with, “Do you drug test your employees, sir?”
Green was getting nervous. “You’re venturing into something that’s a little outside of my area of corporate affairs.”
“It’s a simple yes or no question,” Murton said.
Green nodded. “We do, but the tests are random, and if I’m being honest with you, easy enough to skirt. Surely you guys know that.”
Virgil took the cop out of his voice. “We do. Look, Mr. Green, we’re not trying to make trouble for you. Our only objective right now is to find Dakota and find the drugs.”
“I’ve got no idea where those boys took off to after I fired them.”
“Would anyone on the floor know?”
“Nope. Why do you think I fired them? Everyone hated their guts.”
Chapter Eighteen
When they arrived back in Indy, Cool dropped Virgil and Murton at the airport, then took off again to take Stronghill back to Shelby County and the cultural center. Virgil and Murton went to the MCU facility to do their paperwork and come up with some sort of plan to find Dakota.
“This is the part I hate most about this job,” Virgil said.
Murton looked at his brother. “What, the paperwork?”
“No, no. It’s the fact that we know Chase killed that driver…Boyd, and he probably has the drugs, and we have no idea where to find him.”
“It is what it is, Jones-man. We got lucky with Kono. Maybe the same will happen with Dakota. Or maybe he’ll blow himself up doing a cook.”
“Speaking of meth, did you notice how half the people in that plant looked bombed out of their minds?”
“Well, maybe not half,” Murton said. “But I’d give you ten percent…at least out of the people I saw.”
“Yeah, but you know what I mean.”
“I do,” Murton said. “And that’s the DEA’s problem. If they had any sense, they’d put a few undercover operatives in some of those manufacturing facilities and follow the trail right to the source.”
“Maybe I’ll suggest that to Agent Martin next time I speak to her.”
“Yeah, good luck with that. I don’t think she likes you very much for some reason.”
Carl Johnson was sitting alone at Nick’s Kitchen in Flatrock, eating a greasy cheeseburger and lukewarm fries. When the waitress came over and asked if he needed a refill on his coffee, he said, “Sure.” Then before she could get away, he said, “Have you seen Graves or Mizner lately? They were supposed to meet me here for lunch today.”
The waitress put a fist on her hip, the way waitresses do, cocked her head to one side, and said, “Now that you mention it, I haven’t. They’re here every morning for coffee and toast, but they didn’t show up today.”
Johnson said, “Huh. It’s not like those guys to miss out on a free meal. When I spoke to them the other day, I told them I was buying.”
“Maybe they got their days mixed up.”
“Both of them?” Johnson said.
“Did you try calling?”
Johnson nodded. “Yup. Both their phones went straight to voicemail.”
“Well, hell Carl, you know where they both live. Why don’t you drive over to their houses and find out what’s going on?”
Johnson nodded.
“I think I will, just as soon as I’m done eating the second-worst cheeseburger I’ve ever had in my life.”
The waitress laughed. “Where’d you get the first worst one?”
“Sitting right here, about six days ago.”
“Well, at least we’re making progress then,” the waitress said. She put the check on the table face down. “And don’t forget my tip, you tight bastard. I know you’re making money hand over fist out there with those drilling thingies.”
“Calling me a tight bastard isn’t exactly the way to get a good tip.”
“Oh, I know hon, but I say it with love.” She winked at him and went back to work, a little extra wiggle in her walk. Carl was pretty well off, and she was single, so…
Johnson finished his meal, then got in his truck and headed for Graves’s house. He wanted to go there first for no other reason than it was closer to Nick’s Kitchen than Mizner’s place. When he turned in the drive he saw the barn was closed up, and Graves’s truck was parked by the garage. He got out of his truck and knocked on the door. When no one answered, he walked over to Graves’s truck and put his hand on the hood. The engine was cold, which told him the truck hadn’t been driven lately. He walked back and tried the door to the house again, with no luck. He scratched at the back of his head, climbed into his own truck, and headed for Mizner’s.
He arrived fifteen minutes later and found the same thing he did at Graves’s place, the only exception being that Mizner’s truck was nowhere in sight. When Johnson looked at the welcome mat by the front door, it said, ‘Iffin I ain’t here, I’m probably out fishin.’ He shook his head in disgust at wasting the time. The two of them had probably gone off fishing or something and forgot all about their lunch plans. Last time I offer to buy, Johnson thought. He drove back to the cultural center feeling a little like an idiot for having tried to chase down two guys who didn’t seem to care all that much about him.